Apple season is here and I’ve been searching for the perfect apple cake. I didn’t want a cake that was vaguely reminiscent of apple—I wanted a cake that was chock-full of the tart chunks of fruit, well-spiced and wholesome.

I looked at a handful of recipes and made a couple flops (of one of the duds, Yo-Yo said, This cake doesn’t have any flavor; it’s just stuff against your tongue), and then I spied a recipe for apple cake in our local paper. The recipe itself didn’t strike me as being a winner, but after studying it for a bit, I realized that it provided the perfect groundwork for some culinary imagination.

So I commenced to imagining and measuring, tweaking and stirring, hoping and waiting (and washing up the dirty dishes). Just so you can fully appreciate my culinary genius (ha!): I subbed half of the white flour for whole wheat, cut the sugar in half and switched to brown, doubled the apples, dialed back the nutmeg, glugged in some blackstrap, and tossed in the yogurt, ginger, and wheat germ. It was fun.

Then, finally, I tasted. And what do you know? I got what I was looking for!

Moral of the tale? It pays to have an imagination.

Apple Cake
Wildly adapted from The Amish Cook

This cake is a humble affair, nubbly, nutty, and nutritious, but a dollop of whipped cream dresses it up just enough to make it presentable for company. I dimpled the top of the cake with a slurry of melted butter and brown sugar, but it wasn’t necessary (though it did add a sweet goo factor) so I didn’t include that part in the instructions.

It’s muffins you’re wanting? Then spoon the batter into muffin tins and sprinkle with a crumb topping of your choosing.

1 cup flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup brown sugar, packed
2 tablespoons raw wheat germ
1 ½ teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
2 tablespoons minced candied ginger
½ cup canola oil
½ cup plain yogurt
2 eggs
2 tablespoons blackstrap molasses
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cups chopped tart apples (cored and peeled)
½ cup chopped walnuts
½ cup golden raisins

In a large bowl, stir together the first nine ingredients (through the candied ginger). In another bowl stir together the oil, yogurt, eggs, molasses, and vanilla. Add the wets to the dries and mix gently. Add the apples, walnuts, and raisins and stir to incorporate.

Pour the batter into a greased 9 x 13 pan (use a rubber spatula to spread it evenly) and bake the cake at 350 degrees for 30-40 minutes. Cool to room temperature.

Serve with billows of whipped cream.

About One Year Ago: Another fall cake, Pumpkin Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting.

A couple weeks ago when we were sick, going through a hard time, or getting back from a trip—I can’t remember which—my brother’s family brought us supper and ate it with us. The meal consisted of green beans fresh from the garden, coleslaw, sweet onion corn bake, and chocolate cake with strawberry sauce. Of all that delicious food, I was most excited over the corn bake. I couldn’t quite tell what it was. Cornbread? Creamed onions? Baked corn? It was all those things but in one dish, the flavors and textures perfectly melded into a new concoction. I demanded the recipe.

I made the corn bake two different times with drastic alterations. My goal was to figure out how to make it without using the called-for Jiffy Cornbread Mix and can of creamed corn while still tasting as delicious as what my sis made for us.

The third time around I made it for a Sunday potluck. We were getting kind of sick of eating pans of not-quite-perfect corn bake, and the kids didn’t really like it anyway, so I figured I would make it one last time, take it to the potluck, and then be done with the whole thing (for the present; not forever). Except that at the potluck it all got eaten before I even got through the line.

I felt like crying, and I did do a little dramatic whimpering, but then I sucked it up and made it for the fourth time.

Here you go. I hope you appreciate my efforts. (And even if you don’t, I do because from now on I will be able to make this corn bake whenever I want to, no experimentation necessary.)

Sweet Onion Corn Bake
The original recipe is quite different from what I make, so I’m calling the recipe My Own Creation, though the recipe can be traced from my sister-in-law, and from her to my mother, and from my mother to I have no clue who.

The recipe called for Vidalia onions, hence the reason it is called a “sweet onion” bake. I use regular onions, and I think any kind would be just fine, though Vidalia onions will make the final product a bit sweeter, I guess. (Not that the dish needs to be any sweeter. I think caramelized onions of any ilk are totally sweet.)

It is very important to fully bake this casserole—if it is at all under-baked, the center tastes “wet.” If your oven tends to burn things, it might be wise to reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees after the first twenty minutes of baking time and keep the casserole in the oven longer.

2 giant onions, or 3 large
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup sour cream
½ cup fresh parsley, chopped
1 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese
1/3 cup milk
½ cup yellow cornmeal
½ cup flour
2 tablespoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt, divided
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 tablespoons oil
1 egg, beaten
2 tablespoons canned green chilis (or 1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper)
1 ½ cups corn, fresh, frozen, or canned
2 tablespoons heavy cream
½ cup, packed, grated Gruyère

For the sweet onion part:
Thinly slice the onions and then quarter the slices. Saute them in the 3 tablespoons butter until softened and translucent, about 15 minutes, taking care not to brown them. Set aside to cool.

In a medium-sized bowl, stir together the sour cream, cheddar cheese, 1/4 teaspoon salt, parsley, and milk. Add the cooled onions and stir well. Set aside.

For the cornbread part:
In a small bowl stir together the corn, chilis, and 2 tablespoons cream. Set aside.

In a medium-sized mixing bowl, stir together the cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder, and ½ teaspoon salt. Partially stir in the beaten egg and 2 tablespoons oil; the mixture will be very dry. Add the creamed corn; the mixture will no longer be very dry. Spread the corny cornbread in a greased 9 x 13 pan.

Top the cornbread with the sweet onion mixture and spread it with a spoon so that the cornbread layer is completely covered with the onion-cheese layer. Sprinkle the Gruyère over all.

Bake the casserole at 350 degrees for at least 45 minutes, and more like 60, if you can pull it off without burning the whole thing. When done, the casserole should be quite brown and very well set.

Serve warm.

About One Year Ago: Fort Construction. It’s still not done. Apparently that’s not the point.

I’m fascinated by how people do what they do. How does Minerva juggle a 40-hour workweek, husband, kids, and house? Or what about Juliet and her house filled with biological, adopted, and foster kids, and all the resulting emotional issues—how does she handle all the intensity? And how in the blessed world does Ethel manage to take care of her own small children plus other people’s even smaller children and not go absolutely raving mad herself?

I wonder about these things. A lot.

I know people wonder the same thing about me. In fact, I get the How-Do-You-Do-It Question all the time. Actually, people don’t ask it that way—they usually say, I don’t see how you do it. And then they shake their heads like I’m a 1000 piece puzzle that’s missing six pieces—in other words, I’m complicated and impossible to put together.

(Funny Story, inspired because I typed “missing pieces” and it brought to mind the expression “missing screws”—used in sentences such as, “that person is sure missin’ some screws.” The story is this: At our going-away party at the end of our three-year term in Nicaragua, our team was making a candle for us to take with us. Each person came to the party with a small token of what we meant to them, the plan being to layer the small items in the mold along with the candle wax. I don’t remember any of the tokens, sweet though they were, except for one man’s, a good friend of Mr. Handsome’s and a fellow carpenter, someone who totally understood and shared in my husband’s frustration in finding suitable supplies to work with out in the Nicaraguan boonies. This friend had brought a little screw as his token, and as he held it up to the group before laying it in the candle, he said to my husband, “May you find good screws wherever you go!” Raucous laughter ensued and follow-up comments were made, but I’ll stop here.)

I may be complicated, and I might not be put together, but I’m not impossible (though Mr. Handsome may take issue with that last part). However, I can see why some people might be confused. I homeschool my kids, talk on the phone, cook from scratch, garden, mediate (or squash) sibling squabbles, read books, do laundry, attend church council meetings (because I am chair of youth council, not just for the heck of it), tend my blog, make sourdough, lounge around, go for walks/runs, go to church, scrub toilets, micro-manage four children, eat bonbons (I mean, chocolates), do the grocery shopping, can and freeze, and watch movies.

One thing my mom always says when I verbalize my puzzlements about other people’s lifestyle is, “Well, what isn’t she doing?” Here’s what I’m not doing. I don’t mow the yard, watch TV, feed the animals, listen to the radio, have an out-of-the-home job, make (too many) idle trips to town, sort the recycling, put storage items in the attic, draw/sing/dance/play a musical instrument, change the oil in the van, go anywhere, clean house all that much, take care of the chickens, sew, do remodeling projects, play with my children, fix things, earn money, recover furniture, clean the back hall, have company over (much), make my bed, baby my house plants, haul firewood, sleep in, travel, and dust the broccoli plants. And most important of all, other people assist and enable me in my productivity. I have friends and family who step in and help out with the kids on occasion, and Mr. Handsome is a whirling dervish when it comes to work of any sort—he busts his tail doing housework and parenting stuff (not too mention all the outside work, too) in the evenings.

So there you have it. The six irksome puzzle pieces are no longer missing. Now you know how I do what I do and you have no more questions. That’s good.

There’s a problem, though: I still don’t know how you do it (or don’t do it). If you feel so inclined, please fill me in.

About One Year Ago: A Milestone. We have been diaper-bag-less for one whole year. Amazing.